


Tangled

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom John, Inspired by Art, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 23:57:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6588511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John loves everything about Sherlock's curls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tangled

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [anotherwellkeptsecret's art](http://anotherwellkeptsecret.tumblr.com/post/142989938779/husband-colored-lineart-commission-based-on)

There were times that John couldn’t believe he was so lucky. That Sherlock Holmes would allow him to touch his body, and would touch him in return. That he could wake in the morning and listen to Sherlock moving around the flat. That he could be sitting at his computer and Sherlock would come up behind him and put his head on his shoulder. That he could taste Sherlock’s kisses and run fingers through his hair.

And that hair… The soft, dark curls. The way they looked sleep-mussed on the pillow. The way they looked drowned and falling in Sherlock’s eyes in the rain. The way, when he ran his fingers through them, he could smell Sherlock’s shampoo and watch the way they bounced and reshaped in his hands. The way Sherlock liked to get his hair pulled sometimes.

And now, right now, Sherlock was laying him back on the bed, their clothes discarded somewhere along the hall. John’s heart raced with adrenaline and desire as Sherlock kissed his chest, his throat, blindly fumbling for the lube, needing John just as badly as John needed him.

John’s hands found Sherlock’s hair, groaning as slender fingers pressed into him. “Good, Sherlock," he whispered into the curls.

Soft moans fell from John’s lips as Sherlock prepared him as quickly as he could. John’s cock lay pressed against his stomach, but to touch himself would mean letting go of Sherlock’s hair and he wasn’t prepared to do that, not yet, not now. Sherlock’s hair was a bit damp from the earlier rain, the curls a little wilder, their scent of both his shampoo and of the wet London streets.

It was perfect.

“John,” Sherlock groaned, in that deep, ragged register that told John just how turned on he was. Lifting John’s hips, Sherlock shuffled forward on his knees, pulling him up. John wrapped his legs around him automatically, tugging his head up for a kiss as Sherlock pressed into him.

They groaned together, kissing slowly, John’s tongue in Sherlock’s mouth, hands still in his hair. Sherlock tugged John's left hand free, pinning it to the bed as he began to thrust in earnest. John moved with him. It was a slow, familiar, dance. Sometimes the sex was frenetic, desperate, hungry. But John loved times like this too, when they took their time, made love, hearts beating together. Joined in every way.

Sherlock broke the kiss to rest his forehead on John’s chest, bent nearly double over the shorter man. John ran fingers through his hair, breathing him in, feeling the soft pants of Sherlock’s breath against his skin.

“Close,” murmured Sherlock, adjusting the angle of his thrusts until he found John’s prostate, making him groan with pleasure.

Once Sherlock found it, he turned his full attention on striking it with every press of his hips, free hand on John’s waist to steady him. John felt his orgasm coming closer and closer. Sherlock stole one more kiss before dipping his head again.

John cried out as Sherlock came, following him over a moment later, shivering with the force of it. Sherlock pumped his hips a few more times as they came down from their high. John could feel the sweat on his brow, the trembling breaths. 

Kissing his lover’s head, John breathed him in one more time, slowly running his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, knowing it would calm him. Finally, Sherlock raised his head and let John’s hips down with more gentleness than most would think him capable of.

“Good?” he asked, still a bit uncertain in the bedroom.

“Very good.”

Sherlock smiled, that soft smile that John knew only he saw. He leaned up to kiss Sherlock one more time, then moved them to lay together, legs entangled, one arm thrown over John’s side, dark curls fanned out on the pillow. And John felt like the luckiest man alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone in the livestream that encouraged me to go write this. And to the TheMadKatter13 and Beltainefaire for the quick readover.
> 
> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


End file.
